Both eyebrows of the gardener rose. “Dear me. That is an unexpected twist.”
“Yes, like that of a badly written romance novel,” Pippa agreed. “Simultaneously ridiculous and tragic. I would have laughed at such a story, yet it is true. One would not have believed this kind of thing were possible if it had not happened to me.”
“I would say it is extraordinary,” the man replied meditatively. “Quite extraordinary, indeed. Though why would you call it ridiculous and tragic?”
Pippa frowned. “Ridiculous because none of it makes any sense whatsoever. Like I said before, one would accuse me of inventing this story if it were not sadly true. And it is tragic, naturally.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Why?”
“Because I cannot possibly marry an archduke. Everything, everyone under the sun, from the chimney sweep to the Emperor himself, would oppose such a union.” She laughed darkly. “The very idea is preposterous. It is impossible for us to be even in the same room, breathing the same air.”
The gardener scratched his head. “It does seem to be somewhat of a conundrum.”
“Indeed.”
He regarded her steadily. “You said the young man promised marriage?”
Pippa nodded. “Yes. The date was set, and I had my dowry ready, even. We were to move into the little house at the end of the village. We chose it together. It is not too far from Papa’s house. It had a small garden for chickens and a goat…” Her voice trailed away. Chickens and a goat! And a small stable for her horse. She was to care for the animals and help set up the village school, and he would go to Innsbruck, which was not too far away, and teach at the university there. He had been so excited about it. How foolish it all seemed now.
“So he was entirely serious and not merely trifling with your affections,” he muttered more to himself.
“I used to believe so, once. I used to believe I knew him. That I could trust in him. With my entire life, I trusted him. And now…but now… I no longer know what to think. I find it so difficult to trust him.” She stared into the distance. “I suppose Papa must not have known who he really was, otherwise he would not have let it come this far.”
“And what do you intend to do now?” He looked at her steadily.
She looked at him sadly. “I have to let him go, of course.”
“You do not intend to fight for your love at all?”
Her voice thickened. “I love him. But,” she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, “what is one to do? The union is entirely impossible. I think I see more sense in the matter than he does. He is still in denial. He is holding on with all his might. But I have seen the situation for what it is.” She swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks quickly. “I would like to go home, but my father has died, my home is gone, and I earn barely enough to pay the fare of the next mail coach. So I am stuck here, serving the secret police, who want to use me to spy for them. There.” She gave a watery chuckle. “What did I say? A tragic sob story.”
There was a moment’s silence, and only the dripping of water was to be heard. Then the gardenersighed. “What a confounded situation you have found yourself in, indeed. And there one says that the young people are carefree, and that only we old ones shoulder worries.”
She wiped her nose with his handkerchief. “Now it is your turn. Tell me about your troubles.” She picked up a cloth. “While I help you wipe the plants.” She dipped it into the vinegar and began wiping the leaves of a plant.
He joined her, and for a while, they wiped in silence. Then he talked. “My story is one of heartbreak as well,” he began. “And I truly understand the pain one feels when one has loved, and lost.”
“Your wife?” Pippa guessed.
He nodded. “I have not been lucky with my wives.”
“Oh dear. Plural?”
He sighed. “Two of them. And they both died.”
Pippa’s hand froze. “Oh dear. I am terribly sorry. I cannot even imagine what that must feel like.”
“Yet one may count me lucky for my children, for I have many.” He heaved a deep sigh. “And yet, with each child, another mountain of worry.”
Pippa nodded. “I have no children, and the way it looks now I never will, but Papa said the same. You love them dearly, despite all the worry they cause you.”
“The more I hear about your papa, the more I like him,” the gardener stated.
“But continue telling me about your story.” Pippa moved on to the next plant.
His two wives had both died in childbirth, or complications resulting from childbirth. And his current wife, while he loved her dearly, had fallen ill as well, and thereappeared to be no cure. He had lost six children in infancy or childhood.
“Six!” Pippa looked at him aghast.
